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As clear as it seemed that she had been betrayed by her companion for money, Yuliana felt neither anger nor despair over the shocking turn of events. She felt little anything but hollow and dumbstruck as she marched on, surrounded by the guards. Before wallowing in her own miserable circumstances, she found it a relief that the priceless Langorian heirloom didn't end up in a foreign lord's possession.

Then, instead of wasting time looking for culprits in the past, her thoughts turned exclusively to pessimistic speculations regarding the nearby future.

The likeliest scenario in Yuliana's mind was that she would be banished back to Langoria, where she expected to be imprisoned and tried for treason—punishable by death. Even if her father did harbor a modicum of affection for his one and only child, it was unlikely he would try to shelter such a high-profile criminal before the public.

No, she had to be made an example of.

Precisely because she was a princess—and a knight captain, no less—she had to face the worst possible sentence, to show that no one was above the law.

Unless—unless the lord of the land had other plans.

The bounty on her hadn't come from the prince of Luctretz, it seemed, nor at her father's request, but from the local noble ruling over the town of Grelden and the nearby lands.

So far as Yuliana could recall, that noble was a man called Norenbagh Walington, Duke of the close Haywell estate and the Mayor of Grelden.

The young duke had gained his position as the head of the town six years prior, after his father, the previous Mayor, had passed away on a hunting trip. The rank wasn't hereditary, but the people of Grelden liked the old Mayor's son nearly as much as they had liked his father, and so no one disputed his appointment.

There was no reason to suspect anything vile either, like the young Duke playing a part in his parent's demise, to rob his seat. The old man had been knocked off his horse and fatally injured by a stray griffin while on a casual hunting tour. A natural, albeit tragic accident.

Yuliana had met Norenbagh twice or thrice in the past, but the few words exchanged had remained on the level of shallow, diplomatic courtesies. Regardless, while there was nothing on her side, it was probably too naive to expect such a person to have no interest in Yuliana, a princess.

Did he think he could get favors from Langoria by handing over a wanted criminal? It was unlikely. She was still a princess. While they did want her caught and returned, the Langorians wouldn't love any foreigner for actually doing it.

It was unlikely the Duke would demand ransom in gold or property for her safe return either. The man probably didn't lack money to the point of risking his position, not to mention his neck, just to blackmail a royal house.

Was it sheer sense of duty then that had made the Duke act without orders? Or was it something more detestable, something Yuliana couldn't even imagine? Did the Duke have any intention to release her, or even let anyone know he had her?

The squad escorted the princess across the river splitting the town, to the eastern side of Grelden. The town guards' headquarters stood right beside the stone bridge connecting the districts. It was not a nasty castle, but a simple, tall apartment building, adorned with the town's green-gold banners. Yuliana was left to wait in an office room with two guards, while the captain went to report her capture and inquire what was to be done about her.

She had to wait a good while.

The morning approached noon before Captain Selmon returned and Yuliana was escorted—not into a holding cell, but back to the street outside.

There a beautiful, crimson-painted horse carriage awaited her.

“Your bail has been paid, you are free to go,” the knight informed her, not looking too pleased by the fact.

“Does this carriage look like freedom to you, Selmon?” Yuliana asked.

“It is not my preference, but I cannot hold you either,” he answered.

Departing with two pairs of armed riders, the carriage headed east through the town. Considering their heading, Yuliana suspected her destination was the Mayor's private estate, and she wasn't mistaken either.

Roughly eight miles outside the town, following a curvy, serpent-like road that crossed over the vast farmlands, on a wide hilltop encircled by a stone wall, stood the manor of the head of Grelden.

It was not quite as luxurious as her own family villa on the shores of the southern sea, but Yuliana had to admit it was still a befitting residence for a nobleman.

The main building four stories in height, a stable for fifty horses, a detached house for the servants, a storage building, a guardhouse, and other smaller buildings, all maintained in excellent condition.

The carriage pulled to a halt before a fabulous stone fountain facing the front entrance.

Yuliana was escorted inside and received by the Mayor's servants.

She was stripped of her armor and clothes, bathed, and then dressed in a fashion more suitable for a political prisoner, a violet silk dress, simple but beautiful.

As good as it looked on her, the costume disgusted the princess. Its choice revealed too much of the character and intentions of her host. Prepared in advance, right in her size, as if her ending up on the palm of his hand had been but a matter of time.

Yuliana was then treated to a simple meal and left to wait again.

The sun was setting fast before a maid finally came to retrieve her,

“Your highness. My lord, Duke Walington, will now see you. Please follow me.”

“Oh, my abductor will finally grace me with his attention?” Yuliana sourly replied. “Do you think he'll be worthy of mine?”

The maid said nothing in return but turned to lead the way. The two armed knights continuously tailing her left Yuliana little choice but to follow.

The Duke had even taken soldiers from the town's guard to serve as his personal attendants, which was definitely not among their original duties. Such were acts of a tyrant and not those of a servant of people.

The princess was led through disorienting hallways and staircases of the spacious building to a quiet parlor on the eastern wing, dedicated to meeting guests. More private than a ballroom, less formal than the lord's own office, it was an intermediary space between the hallway and a larger display room, with a view to a flower garden outside.

A group of antique furniture was set up in the corner, but Yuliana took no seat. The maid told her to wait for a moment and left, the knights in tow.

Left by herself, Yuliana heard the sound of the door being locked behind her back.

I don't like this.

Finally, the door on the display room's side opened and, having made her wait after waiting, the master of the house appeared in person.

“Yuliana Da Via Brannan. Your highness. It is a pleasure.”

Stepping in was a man in his late twenties, slim and upright. He was dressed in a formal black costume with a short, fitting coat and straight trousers, clean leather shoes, a wine-red, embroidered vest, and a pearl-white shirt. His mid-length, dark bangs hung tidily combed to one side, a bit above the brow, and from beneath his brows gazed a pair of good-humored but harsh eyes. Without those eyes and the sleazy grin contorting a corner of his lips, the Duke probably could have been called handsome. As he was, however, the final impression was hardly favorable. In his hand, sheathed, he carried Yuliana's sword, the one she had bought from the blacksmith in the morning.

The moment she laid her eyes on the man, Yuliana——gasped in shock.

“You—you are not the Duke of Haywell!” she exclaimed.

As little as they had interacted in the past, the princess hadn't forgotten how the Mayor looked. Not to the point that she would confuse any random stranger for him. She was convinced at a glance; whoever the man was, he was not a relative of the Walingtons.

“Oh, so you've met the man? Ahahaha!” Even after being exposed as a fraud, the man only laughed. “Oh, isn't this a surprise? I didn't expect to get found out so quickly! I'm impressed, truly. You have good eyes, my lady. Oh, well.”

Was he mad?

Disgusted by his uncouth behavior, Yuliana glared at the stranger.

“What are you, really? A thief? A spy? A bandit?”

“None of those, I assure you,” he said. “There is no other Duke in Grelden than I. I have been formally appointed to my position, after all. Just, not by those you deem as the rulers of these lands. No, by one who outranks the juvenile prince of Efastopol by far. Yes, your highness, my allegiance lies with the Emperor of Tratovia and no other.”

“So a spy!” she repeated.

“Something more refined than that.” The false Duke walked to the window and continued, “There are no secrets for me to spy here, see? By this point, Luctretz is not an enemy to be conspired against, nor even a sovereign state to begin with, but only another apple in the Emperor's garden. Where I merely stand in for a warden.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“A madman is what you are. What do you mean to say?”

“Never mind. That is not important to you anymore, my lady. All that matters is that you know me for who I am, the Duke of Haywell, Norenbagh Lucile Walington. And as such, I welcome you to my humble house. Do enjoy your stay. I'm afraid it is going to be a long one.”

“The sun will set backwards, before I acknowledge you, an imposter on top of an abductor,” Yuliana spitefully replied. “Where is the real Norenbagh? Assassinated with a dagger in his back? Or perhaps you used poison? Do you think the people of Grelden won't find out what you have done to him?”

“Oh, they've accepted me quite easily now, you don't need to worry about that. Instead, shouldn't you be more concerned with your own future from here on?”

Biting her lip, Yuliana continued to glare at the man, who turned back to face her and said,

“I was more than a little surprised, when late last night, two knights of the Langorian special forces were brought to me, exasperated. Barely able to pause to draw their breath, they told me such a fantastic tale—of how the crown princess of Langoria had stolen something precious from the castle and escaped. Betrayed her own country, her king, for seemingly no reason. They told me how a squad of loyal, handpicked knights, ordered by a furious father, had chased her for days across the lands, through the mountains, right up to the northern border. The pursuit escalated in the most dramatic encounter in a hideous storm. Then there was a lot of balderdash about bolts of lightning going up and down, sword-wielding daemons appearing out of the shadows, dismembered heads rolling and so on, it was very colorful—I frankly couldn't keep up with the narrative anymore at this point. But I did get the gist of it: the princess got away and came to Luctretz. To Grelden. My own town. Almost too good to be true.”

Yuliana grit her teeth.

So those knights followed us, after all, instead of going back? Fools.

“I'm sure you know the rest,” the man said. “The first thing I did after hearing the story was order a bounty to be put on your head, high enough for everybody in town to keep their eyes peeled, in case they saw anybody matching your description. Do forgive me for the 'dead or alive'-bit, but I did not honestly think anyone would be capable or daring enough to slay the famous knight princess. It was just to spice things up a bit. My knights would take care of it, I knew. As they did. Which has brought us to this happy conclusion.”

“Happy for whom?” Yuliana asked.

“For the people, of course,” the fake Duke answered, spreading his arms. “You know, tomorrow night, I am hosting a banquet here at Haywell. All the nearby landlords, nobles, noteworthy figures of Grelden, and a few other characters of my choosing are invited. It was just to be a regular 'oiling' event, where I ensure the wheels of the province keep turning, and the lords remain favorable to me. But now that you're here, I've changed plans. You, my dear lady, should be the star of the show.”

“The star…?”

“Yes. The much longed-for flash of brilliance in the lives of these fat fucks. During this banquet, your highness will emerge once more in public...to announce your engagement to yours truly.”

“I knew it was coming, and I knew you were mad,” Yuliana replied, shaking her head. “And you should know it will never happen.”

“Of course, you knew,” the man shrugged. “That was not to be a mystery. I mean, what other use is there for women? But that's just the beginning, mind you. It gets better. It is a beautiful setting with a forbidden romance, crossing the borders of nations. You will look at those dull old men and women, right into their watery eyes, and explain how you simply had no choice but to escape the cold castle of your father, because your heart wouldn't allow you to be separated from your true love—me. They will melt like butter in the sun. The story will spread. Finding their natural explanation, the rumors about you running away as a traitor and being disavowed will evaporate. Langoria will have no choice but to restore your rightful rank and privileges. Or else face a diplomatic scandal with Luctretz.”

“This plot is not for my own good, I presume.”

“It's for everybody's good,” the Duke said. “Everybody wins. You see, the best has yet to come. Once the storm in the milk jug has passed, the following shall happen: the Prince of Luctretz will announce a special military pact, in which he unconditionally submits his territory to the use of the Tratovian Empire. Langoria wakes up on a cold autumn morning to find itself besieged. Will there be bloodshed? Oh no, because it is then that you, as the future—very near future—Queen of Langoria, will open your country's borders to a peaceful occupation.”

“I take it back,” Yuliana said, appalled. “You are not mad. There is no word in any language sufficient to describe your lunacy.”

“As much as I would like to, I can take no credit for this plan,” the Duke said. “It has been formulated by minds far superior to my own. All you and I can do is play our parts in it as well as we can, in order to receive our modest share on the fruits of success.”

“And what is your 'modest share'? Me? The Dukedom? Better yet, my country? I fear all of those are more than you have the rank or skill to take, knave.”

“Now, now. This is no time to lose your temper, my princess,” the man responded. “I was worried the rationality of it all would be lost on you, with that crude knight act you have going on. But please think about it for another moment. The day you were born into nobility, all the exits were sealed for you. One way or the other, there is a role prepared for you. By me, by your father, by someone else. All you can do is choose your theater—or be removed from the stage. If you cannot content with the benefits the Empire gives to its faithful subjects, then there is no choice but to do away with you. Dead or alive, remember? It doesn't really matter to me. In body alone, you are fit to be used against Langoria's King. I will send you back to him—piece by piece, until his spirit gives in.”

“You...” Yuliana tightened her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “You, a thousand times cursed maniac! Don't think it will go so easily for you!”

Walking around her, the fake Duke ignored the girl and proceeded to draw the sword.

“So this is the legendary Amygla?” he examined the weapon. “Beautiful work, as expected. The most resilient known material—all those thousands of years since it was forged, yet not a mark on its blade. As if it's never been used. Forged by the elves, was it? Oh, there's a rune carved on the handle. That's not elvish, is it? Well, what could the pointy ears ever do right by themselves? Do you know what it stands for?”

“I haven't the faintest,” Yuliana answered, suppressing a smile.

“Really?” he frowned. “You sure it is not some secret word, a spell to activate the sword's hidden power, taught only to the heirs of the throne? Doesn't that get your imagination running?”

“History never was my strong point. A crude knight princess, remember?”

“Right...What a shame.”

The man wasn't being cautious at all.

Like he never did see Yuliana as anything more than a girl. Though he was armed, there were openings everywhere.

I'd be a fool to not take this chance.

Discreetly turning around, Yuliana stepped towards him, as his attention was occupied by the blade in his hands. Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, the Duke turned, raising his sword arm.

But his reaction was too slow.

Yuliana had already grabbed his wrist and, bending it down, directed a punch in his jaw by the palm of her free hand. A noble or an imposter, he wasn't skilled enough to avoid it.

He didn't need to.

“What——?”

Shocked, Yuliana stared at her hand, which was frozen mid-air, blocked by a strange whirl. It looked as though the air itself was repelling her hand, pressing against it with irresistible force.

At the same time, she saw the room sway and distort on her left.

From seemingly out of nothing, a dark figure stepped forward.

A boy or a young man, not much older than Yuliana in appearance, dressed in a black robe that concealed most of his body, save for an outstretched hand that held a thin, black staff, longer than he was tall. Lengthy black hair framed the stranger's features, which were better described as beautiful in an androgynous fashion rather than handsome. From the piercing gaze of his azure eyes, Yuliana's attention was drawn to his ringed ears, which were sharp and elongated upwards.

An elf? No...a Cirelo, a dark elf?

Why was one serving the Empire?

“Not all that unexpected,” the sorcerer spoke, in a deep, manly voice that didn't suit his youthful looks at all. “I see human civility at its finest. Perhaps you do not need that hand anymore?”

Yuliana realized she couldn't pull her arm back from the swirl. Instead, an invisible force appeared to suck her in, slowly wrapping around her arm until the elbow, tightly squeezing it. So tightly it was beginning to get painful.

“Release her, Joviél,” the false Norenbagh said. “There is no need for that. Our guest was only...shocked, by the dramatic news. Overtaken by emotion, understandably so. There was no harm done.”

“Is there yet harm to be done—that concerns me,” the sorcerer called Joviél stepped closer, examining Yuliana. “I sense a strange power in this girl. She is not a simple human. Terminating her now could be safer than waiting to see what it is.”

“Whether she lives or dies,” the man said, “that depends on the lady herself. Before our safety, the Emperor's plan is what matters. And for that, she could still be more useful as a willing ally than as a corpse. She is at our mercy. There is all the time in the world to kill her after, if she refuses. Or you don't mean to say she is a danger to you, whatever is in her? To one of the Aldervolk? Then why won't this power help her now?”

For a moment, the elf would say nothing.

Yuliana felt the force around her limb fluctuate, as though its conjurer had trouble deciding what to do. At times, it grew intense enough to nearly crack her bones, but ultimately faded completely and she was free, albeit with her arm numb and aching.

“Whatever it may be, I invite you to test me,” Joviél told her, walking past her to the window.

Rubbing her arm, Yuliana straightened her posture.

“So this is how you convinced the people of Grelden you're the Duke? With the dark arts? By joining hands with the cursed races?”

“I'd tidy up my language, if I were you,” Norenbagh answered, “If you think Death has become my servant, to command at will, you would be mistaken. I might not be able to spare you a second time. You have until sunrise to think things through and decide whether to accept the Emperor's mercy—or a swift end. And if you want my advice, try not to do anything foolish like escape meanwhile. I will take that as a 'no'.”

Having said all he wanted, the Duke called the guards and ordered them to escort the prisoner to the room reserved for her.

Brave as she tried to present herself, Yuliana had to admit her choices looked grim. She was confident she could do something about human guards, but defying a sorcerer in his territory was a different matter.

But if escape was impossible, then was accepting the offer all she had left?

Betray the country she had sworn an oath for, join this imposter in marriage, and open the gates of Langoria to invaders? It was horrible, abominable, even as a thought. Yet just as horrible, if not even more so, was the idea of being put to death, only to have her disgraced remains exploited, to wring concessions from her family. The king, her father aside, her gentle mother would not survive it. What a horror and humiliation it would be for the knights who once served under her, after she had already shamed them once with her desertion.

Why did I ever leave home? How could I even think about conquering the Trophaeum at the top of the world, when I can't even protect my own country against these petty snakes...?

She wanted to become stronger. Could she count on the Divine Lord to save her from this situation? So far, Aiwesh had remained quiet, not even speaking to her in thought. Even though it was day, even though she should have had the power?

Why?

Yuliana remembered once again that she knew next to nothing about the spirit whose vessel she had only become days ago. Did the girl's fate even matter to the Lord of Light? Or had she already deemed Yuliana a lost cause, unworthy as a vessel, now only waiting for the opportunity to be freed from her form and return to Langoria?

As she remained haunted by these dark thoughts, there was at least one thing the princess felt grateful about.

That the summoned hero wasn't there to see her disgrace, but remained free to pursue whatever was her dream.